Cubina, on getting clear of the penn-keeper's precincts, lost little
time in returning to the glade; and, having once more reached the
_ceiba_, seated himself on a log to await the arrival of the young
Englishman.
For some minutes he remained in this attitude--though every moment
becoming more fidgetty, as he perceived that time was passing, and no
one came. He had not even a pipe to soothe his impatience: for it had
been left in the hammock, into which he had cast it from the cocoa.
Before many minutes had passed, however, a pipe would have been to
little purpose in restraining his nervous excitement; for the
non-appearance of the young Englishman began to cause him serious
uneasiness.
What could be detaining him? Had the Jew been awakened? and was he by
some means or other, hindering Herbert from coming out? There was no
reason, that Cubina could think of, why the young man should be ten
minutes later than himself in reaching the _ceiba_. Five minutes--even
the half of it--might have sufficed for him to robe himself in such
garments as were needed; and then, what was to prevent him from
following immediately? Surely, the appeal that had been made to him--
the danger hinted at to those dear to him, the necessity for haste,
spoken in unmistakable terms--surely, all this would be sufficient to
attract him to the forest, without a moment's hesitation!
Why, then, was he delaying?
The Maroon could not make it out: unless under the disagreeable
supposition that the Jew no longer slept, and was intercepting his
egress.
What if Herbert might have lost his way in proceeding towards the
rendezvous? The path was by no means plain, but the contrary. It was a
mere cattle-track, little used by men. Besides, there were others of
the same--scores of them trending in all directions, crossing and
converging with this very one. The half-wild steers and colts of the
penn-keeper ranged the thickets at will. Their tracks were everywhere;
and it would require a person skilled in woodcraft and acquainted with
the _lay_ of the country, to follow any particular path. It was likely
enough that the young Englishman had strayed.
Just then these reflections occurred to Cubina. He chided himself for
not thinking of it sooner. He should have stayed by the penn--waited
for Herbert to come out, and then taken the roads along with him.
"Not to think of that! _Crambo_! how very stupid of me!" muttered the
Maroon, pacing nervously to and fro: for his impatience had long since
started him up from the log.
"Like enough, he's lost his way?
"I shall go back along the path. Perhaps I may find him. At all
events, if he's taken the right road, I must meet him."
And as he said this, he glided rapidly across the glade, taking the back
track towards the penn.
The conjecture that Herbert had strayed was perfectly correct. The
young Englishman had never revisited the scene of his singular
adventure, since the day that introduced him to the acquaintance of so
many queer people. Not but that he had felt the inclination, amounting
almost to a desire, to do so; and more than once had he been upon the
eve of satisfying this inclination, but, otherwise occupied, the
opportunity had not offered itself.
Not greatly proficient in forest lore--as Cubina had also rightly
conjectured--especially in that of a West-Indian forest, he had strayed
from the true path almost upon the instant of entering upon it; and was
at that very moment wandering through the woods in search of the glade
where grew the gigantic cotton-tree!
No doubt, in the course of time, he might have found it, or perhaps
stumbled upon it by chance, for--made aware, by the earnest invitation
he had received, that time was of consequence--he was quartering the
ground in every direction, with the rapidity of a young pointer in his
first season with the gun.
Meanwhile the Maroon glided rapidly back, along the path leading to the
penn, without seeing aught either of the Englishman or his track.
He re-entered the ruinate fields of the old sugar estate, and continued
on till within sight of the house, still unsuccessful in his search.
Proceeding with caution, he stepped over the dilapidated wall of the old
orchard. Caution was now of extreme necessity. It was broad day; and,
but for the cover which the undergrowth afforded him, he could not have
gone a step further without the risk of being seen from the house.
He reached the ruin from which he had before commanded a view of the
verandah; and, once more stealing a glance over its top, he obtained a
full view of the long rambling corridor.
Jessuron was in it--not as when last seen, asleep in his armchair, but
on foot, and hurrying to and fro, with quick step and excited mien.
His black-bearded overseer was standing by the stair, as if listening to
some orders which the Jew was issuing.
The hammock was still hanging in its place, but its collapsed sides
showed that it was empty. Cubina could see that, but no signs of its
late occupant--neither in the gallery nor about the buildings.
If still there, he must be in some of the rooms? But that one which
opened nearest the hammock, and which Cubina conjectured to be his
bedroom, appeared to be unoccupied. Its door stood ajar, and no one
seemed to be inside.
The Maroon was considering whether he should stay a while longer upon
the spot, and watch the movements of the two men, when it occurred to
him that if the young man had gone out, and up the right path, he must
have crossed a track of muddy ground, just outside the garden wall.
Being so near the house--and in the expectation of seeing something
there to explain Herbert's delay--he had not stayed to examine this on
his second approach.
Crouching cautiously among the trees, he now returned to it; and, almost
at the first glance, his eye revealed to him the truth.
A fresh footprint was in the mud, with its heel to the house, and its
toe pointing to the path! It was not his own: it must be that of the
young Englishman!
He traced the tracks as far as they could be distinguished; but that was
only to the edge of the damp earth. Beyond, the ground was dry and
firm--covered with a close-cropped carpet of grass, upon which the hoof
of a horse would scarcely have left an impression.
The tracks, however, on leaving the moist ground, appeared as if
trending towards the proper path; and Cubina felt convinced that, for
some distance at least, the young Englishman had gone towards the glade.
That he was no longer by the house was sufficiently certain; and equally
so that he had kept his promise and followed Cubina into the woods. But
where was he now?
"He may have reached the glade in my absence, and be now waiting for
me!" was the reflection of the Maroon.
Stimulated by this, as well as by the chagrin which his mischances or
mismanagement were causing him, he started back along the path at a
run--as if struggling in a match against time.
Far quicker than before he reached the glade, but, as before, he found
it untenanted! _No_ Englishman was under the _ceiba_--no human being in
sight.
As soon as he had fairly recovered breath, he bethought him of shouting.
His voice might be of avail in guiding the wanderer to the glade; for
Cubina now felt convinced that the young Englishman was straying--
perhaps wandering through the woods at no great distance from the spot.
His shouts might be heard; and although the stranger might not recognise
the voice, the circumstances were such that he might understand the
object for which it was put forth.
Cubina shouted, first at a moderate pitch, then hallooed with all the
strength of his lungs.
No answer, save the wood echoes.
Again and again: still no response.
"_Crambo_!" exclaimed he, suddenly thinking of a better means of making
his presence known. "He may hear my horn! He may remember that, and
know it. If he's anywhere within a mile, I'll make him hear it."
The Maroon raised the horn to his lips and blew a long, loud blast--then
another, and another.
There was a response to that signal; but not such as the young
Englishman might have been expected to make. Three shrill bugle blasts,
borne back upon the breeze, seemed the echoes of his own.
But the Maroon knew they were not. On hearing them, he let the horn
drop to his side, and stood in an attitude to listen.
Another--this time a single wind--came from the direction of the former.
"Three and one," muttered the Maroon; "it's Quaco. He needn't have
sounded the last, for I could tell his _tongue_ from a thousand. He's
on his way back from Savanna-la-Mer--though I didn't expect him to
return so soon. So much the better--I may want him."
On finishing the muttered soliloquy, the Maroon captain stood as if
considering.
"_Crambo_!" he muttered after a pause, and in a tone of vexation. "What
has become of this young fellow? I must sound again--lest Quaco's horn
may have misled him. This time, lieutenant, hold your tongue!"
So saying, and speaking as if the "lieutenant" was by his side, he
raised the horn once more to his lips, and blew a single blast--giving
it an intonation quite different from the others.
After an interval of silence, he repeated the call in notes exactly
similar, and then, after another pause, once again.
To none of these signals did the "tongue" of Quaco make reply; but
shortly after, that worthy responded to the original summons by
presenting himself _in propria persona_.
Volume Three, Chapter VII.